Of cats

They were nothing more than three balls of fur; orange, stone black, and white gray. Still babies, with beautiful black eyes. Perched atop a giant brown mountain. Cuddled tightly against one another, fast asleep. Pretty cute. They woke with a start, sharpened instincts of their kind sensing danger, staring at the approaching stranger with big mystical eyes. Moved like liquid flow, as they shot off to find places to hide.

I was amazed at the tantalizing grace of those soft paws. Silk like bodies with a feline sort of sensuality. Nymphomaniacs gliding away. Leaping so quietly, landing on a rock outcrop, decorated in turquoise. From there onto a lime spring. With snake like charm. Always judging the world. Stunned, mystified by the human hand that touched. Unlike their mother. She easily sensed a threat, gave a warning purr, moved to scratch.

Unshaped personalities, purposeless roaming, like their roadside and forest neighbors, the dogs, wolves, fox. Not yet fierce guardians of their territories. Limbs not those of a powerful predator. Silence not mastered. The beauty more infant. A mere shadow of the stunning beauty and immense power. Quiet, stealthy, seductive, as she walks. Never denied her royalty in the terrain she moves in. A beautiful golden beast. The tiger looks upon the girl with proud contempt and fitting arrogance. She slithers up the tree, lithe, agile, canny, calculating, scheming. The leopard knows the killer. The mistress must wait. As always.